Light & Dark

Within us all there is the potential to be both light and dark. The trick is embracing both your light and dark elements to find balance. 

-m.

Challenges

Life’s filled with challenges & accomplished challenges. Whatever you want to do is on the other side of fear. And often working with others means you overcome a fear so you learn to trust them because you trust yourself.

There’s a pivotal moment in life where you start trusting yourself and rise to life’s challenges by guiding yourself through them. It’s nice to impart what I’ve learned through Buddhism and my metaphysical teachings to others but it’s absolutely amazing when they start guiding themselves without my sharing any wisdom. When you start challenging yourself instead of relying on others... life changes. Realize you are a force to be reckoned with and you don’t need anyone to tell you differently than your own voice. Love yourself and see yourself as the universe already does. It’s amazing!

Here’s another old very dark story. I will cite Matisse and won’t tell you more except I am finding time to focus on writing & drawing again because inspiration is forever.

Enjoy! 

Kisses, m.

Still Life

(September 25, 2009)

Floating. Weightless. Sinking.

There are a million thoughts in my mind as I’m descending further toward a watery grave. The loose pieces of white sheets dance in the aquamarine expanse that surrounds. The long black tendrils of my hair reach up to grasp and the last remaining spark of golden light that penetrates the water’s surface.

It’s not clear to me how long I have before hitting the bottom, or perhaps even, how long I can continue to hold my breath. There are so many uncertain feelings in my gut. Would this time be different? Had I pushed him too far? Would he really let me die? As I descend deeper and deeper, the pressure becomes heavier and it’s now a struggle to hold my breath. These last moments are becoming quieter and darker. The small glint of golden light is diminishing and the sea around me becomes bluish darkness.

Killing me had always been a threat that neither of us took seriously. Artists. Painters. We were so passionate, emotional, misguided, highly wounded and intense individuals. Both to blame so very often. Even after he dropped me off a building, hit me with a car, and took a knife to my face, I still believed in his devotion… as all was in the sake of the craft and I was never in any harm. The beauty of the moment - the creation of a single timeless instant to be frozen for all eternity. After the anger there was always such impractical beauty. Researched. Polaroided. Cataloged. Painted. Hung in the museum, the gallery, or the rich man’s wall for all to envy. This time I’m afraid he’s quite determined and madness has taken over. The madman fitted me with a pair of cement shoes which seal my fate. This will be over soon.

No point in struggling. That will only ensure that I’ll drown sooner. I’m wrapped tightly in 50 yards of white canvas bound by ropes from my shoulders to the base of my calves. Mummified in an eternal moment at the base of the ocean. The fool wanted to see the beauty in my death so he never wrapped my face. “There will be no need to gag you,” calmly he tells me as his hand brushes my cheek and pauses. Look him in the eye for answers. “You won’t scream or you’ll suffocate faster.” There are none as his gaze breaks away. He lifts me and carry me to the edge of the dock. “I can’t change this. You understand? This is the epitome. The final boundary - death. You must see the beauty in this. I love you.” Laugh. Kiss my forehead. Let go.

I’m falling. Watching his face from beneath the surface as it scrutinizes my descent.

Holding my breath is becoming unbearable. It’s quite apparent to me now… there’s no return. Pretty certain I’m reaching the threshold of my limits. Open mouth, release a bubble of air. The time is almost here. I’m fading. There’s no more strength. Take in water. Soon… open eyes and mouth, pale white skin, blood red lips, and aquamarine darkness against white canvas. Breathtaking beauty, researched, photographed, cataloged and then painted. Still life.

Living In Moments

Writing about the Dead is more about living than dying. To remember those you’ve lost is a nice memory but you must remember to focus on the living and connect with others. That’s part of living... connecting. Moments aren’t always enough to bind or bond people. Getting to know someone is what keeps them in your mind, heart & memories. Focus on the present. Love yourself. 

Here’s an old one, from another of my favorite series’ The D Men, that’s about the living & considering change for the better if you get the chance. Enjoy whether you have or haven’t read it before.

Do you focus on the living or the dying?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

The Dead

(6-28-2011) 

 

“Baby, I love you come back to bed.” She says.

The soft voice whispers and speaks the truth.

And it’s the last truth that echoes before he’s awake.

The same conundrum wakes Classer Andresen from a dead sleep. Night after night, different places, different women and the same thing happens for Classer Andresen. The whisper precedes a memory. Not the last moment, but one all entirely different.

A random instance where she was there in his arms. In the dark of the Study standing next to the window and he was wrapped around her. His mind is surrounded by the smell of the room intensified by the sensation of his touch he lets his mind wander with the thought. Imagining the smell of the dusty room filled with old books could still make him jump hard with a hunger for her.

Stiff, hungry and hung over when he jars himself free from the waking dream, Classer can’t quite shake the sensation of the moment. Looking over, he visually makes out a long pair of legs attached to a thin brunette.  The small dimple of her back feels just like the one in his memory. But it’s not. As he moves his eyes up from bottom to top he can see the signs of his night. Two wrappers trail the edge of the sheets before giving way to a third. At least his efforts were protected even if he can’t seem to remember them. The perfection of the thin body next to him lifts and lowers with small shallow breathes. With the dark hair covering her face she might be the mirror image of Inara. Soft corners of her lips peeking out from the curly mess of long brown locks could fool him the same way the others fooled him every night.

This one, her name was Rachel. She told him that was her name, but it might be something else. He distinctly remembers a Heather or a Michelle. These women seem to be all the same when there’s one after another night after night. And the one thing they seem to have in common is that they can never be her.

The women like the memories couldn’t bring Inara back into his life. She was still gone, a dead memory because he was foolish enough to let her go. Foolish enough to send her away. And much like a dead woman, thinking about her that wouldn’t change a thing or bring her back to  him. Yet his mind wanders from the simplest stimulation. Looking at the book on the nightstand is intoxicating to his mind and sends his thoughts back into the past looking for her.

The air around them was stagnating in the dark Study. Dusty from the smell of old volumes of truth. Although her lips kept begging him back to bed, her hands were making different plans altogether. Down around his back she cups his ass and pulls him close. Without a thought he reaches beneath her robe and lets his hand move up and inside her thighs. Soft, warm and welcoming she kisses him when touches her.

Snapping back to present he’s ready for more. But to wake the creature next to him would only shake the moment from before. So he quietly runs his fingers across the skin of her thighs before getting up from the bed. It’s all he can do to avoid waking his anonymous companion as he gently shuts the bathroom door. Awake means questions and questions require answers. Answers are something that Classer really doesn’t want to supply at 3am for a woman he’s known less than six hours.

In the bathroom there’s wrappers four and five making an appearance. At least there is comfort in knowing that he safely could handle his alcohol and anonymous bedfellows. But this night wasn’t like any other and Classer knew it.

Tonight much like the dead didn't like to rest, the memories kept coming back to him haunt. The cool drip of the faucet sets his mind wandering backwards toward the same sound of water gently tapping at the window in the moment that cannot become again.

Kicking the back of his legs she let his movements climb and rise. The sound of her breath and moans greet the pulse of his hips and the touch of his hands. Slowly the sounds between them come to an end. Inara kisses the soft part of his bottom lip before taking in the whole of his mouth.

It’s there the memory always fades.

Still staring at the floor and standing next to the sink Classer can’t gather himself quickly enough. His face in the mirror seems the same and very different. There are a thousand reasons to go out there and pick up where he left off with the thin brunette named Rachel or Heather or Michelle and only one to pick up and leave…

She wasn’t her.

And none of them ever would be. None of the living could replace the dead memory of her. And none of these women could ever replace her ghost that haunted his memory. Sometimes she was there in a sound or a breath, but her pure essence could never be captured in a night of mindless pleasure. But for a moment or two he could bring back the ghost of her with a thought. And although it was the purest form of intoxication for his mind, Classer knew he couldn’t live in those memories. That’s all they were.

“Baby, come to bed,” She calls.

In a small voice he can hear the woman call to him.

And it’s the only truth that he can face when he looks in the mirror before turning out the light and going back into the room.

To The Bone

Writing darkness in a different frame of mind is something else. It’s like walking in the winter versus walking in the summer... and not minding either. One of my favorites of the darker series’ was the Bones so I thought I’d focus on writing on a few. Here’s a new Bones with the flavor of the old darkness.

Do you like to take walks?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

To The Bone
 
“Chilled to the Bone!” Tommy yells from up the hill.
 
It’s an early dusk and an unprecedented snow has descended upon our sleepy parts. It’s quite rare that a snowstorm will land in these parts but it’s not unheard of. The fair Adelaide Lafont has graced us with her company on a stroll back through the woods home. She was letting out from her Mama’s knitting circle as we were exiting from the local watering hole, so Tommy offered up our services as escorts. Much to my dismay, sweet Addie has taken a shine to me and wants to hold my hand while we cross through the dead parts of the woods. It doesn’t bother me much because the dead don’t mind the cold and I’m fair certain they’re out playing in this ice storm.
 
With his typical tomfoolery, Tommy is falling behind whooping and carrying on about his distaste for the cold weather. Addie hollers at him, teasing his antics, “Don’t you love being outside? I thought that’s why you’re always playing with the bones, Tommy Lee.” 
 

“This wind chills me to the bone! Whose idea was it to walk home in the snow? Them bones are liable to jump out and try to confis-sss-cate my skin in this state,” Tommy backtalks with a hint of chattering teeth that give him a stutter. Addie giggles at his nonsense, but deep in the back of my head, I know he isn’t wrong. Quickening my pace, I pull Addie a little closer to me. 

 
Walking through the snow blanketed woods as night creeps in might sound like a romantic moment, but round these parts, the dead rarely rest and the bones take every opportunity to pull one over on the living. You see the dead tend to crawl out when the temperature drops. Something about life being frozen still all around makes most folks stay indoors. The living don’t much care for the icy weather and this shift to freezing temperatures almost guarantees you’ll come face to face with a pair of bones walking around midday. Being close to nightfall in this wintery playground doubles our likelihood of meeting a pair of bones. Now the dead normally abide by the rules of the living but when the dead come out in the cold, they come looking for the bones of those that have wronged them. They don’t much care what they take but they’ll take yours if you ever crossed them. 
 
It wouldn’t have been Addie’s fault, why I’m nervous. God rest her Daddy’s soul, he was a gambling man that never did know when to quit. And as we make our way down the trail to her house, all I can think of is how her Daddy used to cheat them bones at cards. Now some men are good at talking or persuading others to do what they want, but Addie’s old man, Remy Lafont, was a damn good cheat. I’d never seen a skeleton come unglued over losing to anyone before I played cards with Remy. He’s probably the only man I’d seen walk away with an entire set of bones minus the skull and an arm and not give it back. It’s a shame Addie couldn’t see him play, but its good fortune she doesn’t know this evening or she might worry too.
 
“THE BONES!” hollers Tommy and I can hear him coming up quick. “I CAN HEAR SOMETHING COMING!”
 
Addie’s laughter grows louder this time, but I give her a yank closer as Tommy runs past us. Tommy has much to be afraid of. He’s crossed the bones on more than one occasion and despite losing his skull once he hasn’t much changed trying to get the best of the dead. Much to my dismay, I know the dead aren’t after Tommy in the twilight hour. In the back of my mind, it’s quite clear that there’s a dead man coming to call on Addie to answer for her Daddy’s sins.
 
Just as I think it, a boney hand latches on to Addie’s free arm. No quicker than I reach over and rip it away, a skull bites down on her leg. She winces and lets out a loud belly laugh before kicking it off with the heel of the boot on her free leg. 
 
“You ok?” I half laugh at her reaction wondering why she isn’t scared.
 
“You know that sneaky fella always tries to hitch a ride home with me every time it gets real cold out. My Daddy, God rest his soul, told me to never let him near the rest of his bones. You ok?”
 
“I’m chilled to the bone.” With a giggle and wide smile, she pulls me closer.

Dream Roomspiration: Garden Bedroom

Barbie loves seeing people and things grow and flourish. So it’s shouldn’t surprise anyone that she loves a garden. Where better to have a garden than in your dream room?

Dream Roomspiration: Garden Bedroom

Would you love to sleep in a garden?

Barbie would!

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.